


Hello Darkness My Old Friend

by TheosOxonian



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheosOxonian/pseuds/TheosOxonian
Summary: An autumn evening in Crabapple Cove.“Hey,” Hawkeye said as he padded across the tiled floor in his stocking feet, slipping his arms around Trapper’s waist, “you okay?” he asked, stretching a little to press a kiss to the nape of Trapper’s neck.





	Hello Darkness My Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So this is set about a decade after the war, in my own happy little 'verse where Trapper left his wife for Hawkeye and they live together in Crabapple Cove.
> 
> Sorry I haven't posted much lately but I promise you I am writing MASH fic which I'll post when it gets finished - it's just turning into a bit of a project... However in the meantime my friend, beta and occasional promoter got home from work yesterday and sent an email demanding fluff. So here is fluff, albeit MASH-style fluff, so there is the occasional darker note.
> 
> * * *

Hawk glanced up from the paper as headlights swept up the drive. Smiling he folded his glasses onto the arm of his chair and rose to his feet, ambling toward the kitchen at the back of the house. 

“Hey,” he said as Trapper opened the door, pausing in the porch to kick off his shoes and hang his heavy overcoat on its peg, “girls get back okay?”

“Yeah,” Trapper agreed as he closed the inner glass door behind him, shutting out the cold of an early autumn night. 

“Louise okay?” Hawkeye asked. 

“Fine,” Trapper said with a shrug as he retrieved a glass from the draining board and walked past Hawkeye to raid one of the many decanters that stood on the oak sideboard in the dining room. “Found out why Kathy’s been in a mood all week,” he called back.

“Yeah?” Hawk prompted as Trapper came back into the kitchen, moving to stand over by the sink, glancing out down the garden as he sipped at his whiskey.

“There’s some boy down the street she’s sweet on, didn’t appreciate being hauled away from him.”

“That’s sort of cute,” Hawkeye said after a moment of reflection.

“Yeah,” Trapper agreed a little flatly.

“Hey,” Hawkeye said as he padded across the tiled floor in his stocking feet, slipping his arms around Trapper’s waist, “you okay?” he asked, stretching a little to press a kiss to the nape of Trapper’s neck.

“I’m fine,” Trapper said as he shook off the embrace. “I’m just tired from driving is all.”

“You stop for any dinner?” Hawkeye asked as he backed off, resting his hip against the counter, not unused to Trapper’s mercurial moods after a trip down the I-95.

“Nah,” Trapper said as he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a weary sigh. “Louise offered but…”

“But what?” Hawkeye queried. 

“Oh I don’t know,” Trapper said with another sigh as he pushed himself away from the sink and turned around to glance across at Hawkeye with what might have been a quick, half apologetic smile. “It just all felt very…girlish…girly I suppose. Kathy was pestering Louise with questions about whether this Hayden boy had called for her, and there was a pile of fashion magazines on the hall table, and they’re all looking at me with their curled hair and painted nails waiting for an answer about whether I was stopping, and I think we all figured I’d be better off long gone. So I went,” he finished tersely, glancing around the room, not quite meeting Hawk’s eye as he fidgeted restlessly for a moment before making his way toward the hall.

“Trap,” Hawk said quietly, reaching out to rest a hand on Trapper’s arm, halting him in the doorway, brown eyes glancing questioningly back. “The fire’s lit in the sitting room,” he said. “Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll bring you some supper?”

Trapper stared at him for a moment, before his shoulders relaxed and something a little more like his usual smile flickered across his face. “Yeah. Thanks,” he added, reaching out to squeeze Hawk’s elbow before turning away toward the wide wooden staircase.

Hawk watched him thoughtfully as he began to climb the stairs, turning away and starting to fix a grilled cheese sandwich as Trapper’s heels gradually vanished. He set out a couple of slices of ham and a helping of his dad’s stewed apple in one their old willow pattern bowls and placed them all on a tray as a pan of milk warmed on a low light. He stirred the liquid slowly, listening to the creak of floorboards as Trapper moved around their bedroom, and despite the slight tension in the house found himself smiling softly, unable to do anything but love the man who’d left his wife and daughters so many times over the years to come home to Crabapple Cove. Who drove back from Boston on dark, empty highways once every couple of months, celebrated birthdays and Christmases over phone wires, and kept smiling for them all as best he could. 

Digging out the tin of cocoa he added a couple of spoons to Trapper’s mug and poured out the warm milk just as it was begging to bubble, carrying the tray through into the front room and setting it on the coffee table between their armchairs as the familiar groan of the top step heralded Trapper’s descent. 

He entered the living room a few moments later dressed in pyjamas, his black silk robe belted around his waist. Hawkeye smiled at the sight of it, knowing it was a little thin for an autumn evening but that Trapper had chosen it for him. A little visual apology in case he never quite got around to the words. 

“Supper’s over there,” Hawk said with a nod of his head as he crouched down to flick through their music collection, carefully extracting a record from its cover and inner sleeve before setting it on the old radiogram. 

The familiar hiss and crackle started up as he lowered the lid and made his way back to his chair, retrieving his glasses and paper as he sat back down. 

“Sinatra?” Trapper asked around a mouthful of his sandwich.

“Yup,” Hawkeye agreed without looking up.

“You hate Sinatra,” Trapper said.

“He’s no Ethel Merman,” Hawkeye quipped as he idly perused the classified ads, wondering why old Bob Tucker would think there was any market for twelve faded landscapes in cedar wood frames. “But I happen to know you have a tendency toward the sentimental every time you come back from dropping the girls home. And I can’t cope with any Johnny Mathis right now. So we’re going to sit here and listen to ol’ blue eyes while you eat your supper and I try not to think about what it is you’re nostalgic for,” he added, moving on to note that Ethel Jenkins’ cat Ruby had given birth to a litter of three kittens. 

“Hawk...” Trapper began, pausing with a piece of toast half way to his mouth, trailing off as Hawkeye glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. 

“Just eat your supper,” Hawkeye advised with a slightly apologetic smile of his own. 

He continued through the paper as Trapper finished the tray and then curled his feet up as he nursed his hot chocolate in both hands. Outside a light drizzle started up, the sound of the rain soft against the windows, the occasional car on the coast road adding a sibilant note as night drew in. Trapper got up to clear away the tray, returning with two glasses of scotch, switching out the record for Hawkeye’s latest Simon and Garfunkel. He paused in front of Hawkeye’s chair as he handed over the glass, but settled quietly back into his own when Hawkeye did nothing more than glance up to accept the drink.

When the old grandfather clock in the hall eventually struck ten Hawk folded up his paper and set his black framed reading glasses into their case, closing it with sharp snap. “You coming up?” he asked.

“In a few minutes,” Trapper agreed.

“You’ve got work tomorrow,” Hawkeye reminded him carefully.

“Yeah, I know,” Trapper agreed, a little of his earlier abruptness returning. “I’ll see you up there,” he added as Hawk lingered for a moment beside the door before heading up the stairs, the strains of _Homeward Bound_ fading away as he rounded the half landing. 

He ignored the main light in the bedroom, easily navigating around the room in the dark to switch on his bedside lamp, undressing in the dim half-light. He changed into his own pyjamas, carrying his clothes to the wicker laundry basket in the bathroom before busying himself washing his face and cleaning his teeth. As he passed back along the landing he heard the front door click open, and after setting out his suit for the next day he moved to stand in the wide bay window. Out beyond the headland the sea was an inky black, and the familiar sight of houses and trees were muted shapes in the cloud that was settling low over the land. The burning tip of a cigar marked Trapper’s progress along the porch to the weathered rocker, and Hawkeye watched the idly moving light for a few minutes, the weak glow illuminating nothing but the fingers of his right hand and the familiar line of a cheek. 

The polished floor boards of the room were cool against the bare skin of his feet as he stood watching, and though the old single glazed windows did little to hold back the cold night air he lingered a while longer, reluctant to close the heavy brocade curtains. He felt a little guilty stood over Trapper like this, observing him, intruding even. But the idea of closing the curtains, of shutting Trapper out seemed simply wrong. 

He did retreat eventually, when the cotton of his pyjamas had given up offering any protection and he was shivering hard. He slipped beneath the white, duck down duvet, tugging it up around his shoulders as he rested against the pillows. The front door clicked open again ten minutes later, and he listened to the familiar sounds of Trapper moving around downstairs. The back door being locked, the fire banked down, lights turned off and the familiar tread of familiar feet up the stairs.

“Much booked in tomorrow?” Trapper asked he returned from the bathroom, closing the door half way, slipping his robe on to the hanger on its back.

“Dunno actually,” Hawkeye said, watching as Trapper closed the curtains, carefully settling the join so that no light was visible from outside. “I didn’t check the appointments diary before leaving on Friday. Guess I’m going in blind,” he remarked.

“You do live life on the edge,” Trapper commented as he came to join him in the bed, settling down with a grateful sigh and he burrowed his way between the covers.

“You don’t want to read?” Hawkeye asked, already reaching over to turn off the lamp as Trapper made a negative noise, the old iron bedstead creaking a little as he leant over to offer a brief goodnight kiss.

“Hawk,” Trapper said urgently as he reached out hand to his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Hawkeye said as he paused above him.

“I love my life with you,” Trapper said, as he peered up through the darkness, “you know that?”.

“Yeah I do,” Hawkeye said softly, smiling as he bent to kiss Trapper’s forehead.

“No, I mean it,” Trapper said earnestly, slipping his hand around Hawkeye’s back and drawing him down into the circle of his arms. 

“I know,” Hawkeye said as he settled himself against Trapper, their lips meeting in a soft kiss, and then another that lengthened and deepened. He hummed contentedly as Trapper worked a leg between his own and those skilled, surgeon’s hands stroked along the length of his back. This was one of his favourite places in the world, all wrapped up in Trap’s lightly muscled arms, firm thighs pressed against his own, the cosy, comfortable weight of the duvet cocooning them together.

“Looking to start something?” he murmured as he mouthed gently along the line of Trapper’s jaw.

“Not particularly,” Trapper said as caught Hawk’s lips again.

“Shame,” Hawkeye observed as he rubbed himself lazily against Trapper.

“You’re the one that was fretting about getting up for work,” Trapper pointed out. 

“Yeah I know,” Hawkeye said with a resigned sigh. “I think we’re getting old,” he observed as he pulled away to glance down at Trapper. 

“We are getting old,” Trapper said with a smile at Hawkeye’s comically despondent expression. “My baby girl’s starting to date,” he added with a sigh.

“That bother you?” Hawk asked.

“Not really,” Trapper mused, “I suppose it worries me a bit but I’m not planning to buy a shotgun and start vetting her dates. She’s a level headed girl and we’ve all raised her right over the years.”

“Yeah but something’s bothering you,” Hawkeye observed as he settled back down, tucking himself against Trapper’s side. “I know you find leaving them hard,” he said. “And it doesn’t ever seem to get any easier,” he added, running a finger gently along a bicep.

“That’s not it,” Trapper said. “Quite the opposite actually,” he added after a moment of silence. 

“It is getting easier?” Hawkeye asked a little doubtfully.

“Course not,” Trapper said tersely, “not in the proper sense anyway,” he amended. “But this time there was part of me that really did want to hightail it out of there. Kathy’s been a little madam all week and that attitude was starting to rub off on Becky, and I know the last few day’s have been…trying. Thanks for your patience with that by the way,” he added parenthetically.

“Teenage kids,” Hawkeye said with a shrug, “this too shall pass.”

“Yeah,” Trapper agreed. “But as I was stood in our old front hall, a bit pissed off with the girls, Louise offering me dinner, Kathy fretting about boys and Becky zeroing in on magazines about hair and makeup, I realised that I had no real desire to be spending time in a house with three women. Which made me feel like a right heel,” he admitted quietly.

“Because like many a man before you and many yet to come, you fled before a wave of lipstick and hair curlers?” Hawkeye asked. “You do know that’s why God invented sports bars?”

“Yeah,” Trapper agreed with a laugh, kissing Hawkeye’s nose, “my dad always left the apartment when there was dressing up going on. Prom nights, Christmas parties, first communions, first dates.”

“See,” Hawkeye agreed. “Perfectly normal reaction.”

“Still felt a bit selfish though,” Trapper said hesitantly. “Scratch that, a lot selfish,” he said with a sigh.

“How so?” Hawk asked.

“Because I got to leave it all behind and come home to you,” Trapper said softly.

“You felt guilty,” Hawkeye said just as softly. “All over again,” he added as evenly as he could manage, struggling not to feel the sting of old wounds and old resentments, as the past shoved its way right through his contented mood. Remembering that first year of stolen weekends and lies and broken promises and how the next had been harder still, trying to forge a relationship against a backdrop of blame and anger and recrimination.

“Yeah,” Trapper admitted as Hawk’s hands stilled. “I love our life,” he said again. “I love you,” he added simply and absolutely. “But it reminded me all over again that no matter how much I love the girls, I couldn’t do anything other than choose you, and there’s still a small part of me that doesn’t know what kind of a man that makes me.”

“Hey,” Hawkeye said as he moved to wrap his own arms around Trapper, pulling him in close and firmly pushing away all the irritation that came with the reminder that some part of Trapper was still guilt ridden and Boston bound, ignoring the hurt that came with knowing some part of him was still locked away in the past, looking ever backward and away from their life. 

“I love you,” Hawk whispered softly as he pressed his lips against Trapper’s ear. “And I wouldn’t love you half as much if it weren’t for your loyalty and your steadfastness and that big old soft heart of yours,” he said, reminding them both of the truth of that.

“I’m sorry,” Trapper offered quietly.

“No,” Hawkeye said with a firm shake of his head. “We’ve been through this before, don’t you ever dare apologise for loving any of us.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Trapper said as he tightened his arms, his grip hard and a little desperate.

“I know, but who could?” Hawkeye joked, his voice muffled against Trapper’s neck. “Now if you’re done trying to squeeze the life out of me, shove over,” he directed.

“What?” Trapper asked, confused by the odd request.

“Shove over,” Hawkeye said again, “if you’re not going to have the decency to seduce me, the very least you can do is offer a cuddle. And if I sleep here I’ll end up with a crick in my neck when I fall between the pillows.”

“You know, I sometimes worry that general practice is dulling your brain,” Trapper said dryly. “Here,” he said shoving his own pillows into the middle of the bed and knocking Hawkeye’s to the floor, “I’m not spending the night teetering on the edge while you’ve got the rest of the bed to sprawl out in,” he pointed out. 

“I don’t want to sprawl,” Hawkeye objected a little petulantly as he turned over and snuggled back as Trapper’s arm curled around his waist, twining their fingers together as they settled themselves comfortably.

“Night honey,” Trapper said as he nuzzled briefly through Hawk’s hair to press a kiss to his neck.

“Night yourself,” he agreed, wondering idly as he began to drift off what were the chances of convincing Trapper to come home early tomorrow and spend a bit more time in their nice soft bed.


End file.
